


November, 2002

by radioactivedean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Stanford Era, only there's no Sam in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactivedean/pseuds/radioactivedean
Summary: Sam is at Stanford and during a routine ghoul hunt in Ohio, John and Dean try to cope with the fact that they're on their own and about ready to snap at eachother. They end up having a actually nice, family-bonding time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered what was happening to John and Dean while Sam was away. I think it might be one of my favourite fic topics, since their dynamic really gets to me. Well? I gave it a shot. God excuse any of my terrible jokes, I'm facepalming just thinking about them. But also softly laughing, cause ;) 
> 
> um. this is my first fanfiction i publish in english ever. excuse any mistakes, and please let me know if it was ok. im very interested in ANY opinions lmao i've no idea if i can even write. bye

_November 2002_

'Well, so far so good, right?' pants Dean.  


John doesn't even bother to reply, because, hell, he's had it up to here with the kid. And of course, they're great - carrying a body of the sheriff (ghoul) in the middle of a fucking road, for everyone to see. For once he's glad this is a job in some little town no one's heard of, Ohio, instead of... whatever, Cleveland? Columbus? It's dark and cold as fuck, snow covering their boots and still falling from the sky, road icy and slippery. But at least no one decides to take a trip to Walmart and pass by.  


'I mean, it coulda been a lot worse. Like, we coulda been stuck in Chicago, a salt and burn with pastor Jim, and a nice warm dinner afterwards in his apartment. Terrible...' murmurs Dean ironically.  


'It's colder in Chicago, though,' replies John. He refuses to be blamed for his argument with Jim. It's none of Dean's concern how are things between them. 'Come on, speed it up, we're close to the graveyard already.'  


Dean's bleeding from his temple, where he'd taken the hit during the fight. Blood is dripping down on the snow, leaving a small trail after them, but John doesn't think it will matter; technically, no one is missing and no one is dead either, so there shouldn't be a reason to look for them.  


'And why do I gotta carry the head?' keeps complaining Dean, but speeds up nonetheless. 'The... fluids... are still leaking all over, it's gross.'  


'I'm sorry I can't wipe your hands, princess,' bites back John. He notices Dean's slowing down again. 'Jesus Christ, get yourself together, won't you?'  


'Maybe it'd be easier if I didn't have, I don't know, post-turtle Aeschylus with me?' nags Dean.  


John's had enough. He sees red and drops the body on the snow, eliciting a surprised gasp from Dean, who's pulled down with the sudden weight.  


'Are you done?' he demands, his voice on the verge of screaming. Dean looks up at him, his wide eyes confused, arms still cradling the head awkwardly.  


'What...'  


'The drill is simple, Dean. You decide to go on a hunt with me, then you do as I say. I say carry the head, you?'  


Dean's staring up at him from where he's crouched in the snow. He looks completely baffled.  


'You?!' repeats John, all but shouting.  


'I... carry the head?'  


'Yes, you carry the fucking head!' fumes John, turning away to take a couple of breaths. He hears Dean shifting and getting up. 'I don't give a fuck if you've got your hands dirty. We got a job, we finish it. Sure, it'd be nicer in motherfucking Chicago. How about you go and check it out, huh? Wanna bail out on me now?'  


There's a challenge in his voice he can't keep out, as he turns around and glares at Dean. His son drops his eyes.  


'No, sir,' he replies quietly. John forces himself to calm down, because that's not Sam. It's not, and he's not going to argue and pin him down with that fiery gaze and yell how wrong John is, how he would have preferred to be somewhere else, far away from him. That's Dean and he just got tired, and he's missing his brother, and he's angry at John for cutting out the few people they cared about them out of the picture.  


'Then follow the orders,' John turns around again and heads for the cemetery gate, a couple of meters away from them.  


Dean looks at him leaving for a couple of seconds, dumbfounded, before shaking it off. He drapes the ghoul's arm around his neck.  


'Don't mind him, he's just being an asshole,' he says to the corpse conversationally. 'At least I don't gotta stick my fingers in your gooey hair anymore.'  


He carries the ghoul, bending down because it's fucking heavy, and slowly makes his way to the gate, where his dad picks the lock and opens it. They enter the cemetery and make their way to the end of the lane, farther away from the road. Dean's happy to sit down on a headstone and finally deposit of the body, which lands on the ground with a thud. John retrieves a shovel from the duffel and then, he starts digging a grave.  


Dean makes use of the ever present snow and washes his hands. He's glad dad lets him rest, at least for a while. He takes in the surroundings, crooked headstones and crosses covered in snow, fog and wind making it almost impossible to see past the ten feet radius, the moon basking everything in a creepy, blueish light.  


'Kinda gives me the Goosebumps vibe,' states Dean, leaning back and resting his head on some angel sculpture's back. There's a pause, the sound of shovel hitting the ground, and then his father answers:  


'Which episode?'  


Dean almost smiles a little. Okay, so that means they're not yelling at eachother anymore. Or rather, dad at him. It's been real fucking hard lately, with all his moods after Sam taking off, atmosphere heavy enough to slice it with a knife. He just wishes John could have stopped throwing fits and started treating Dean like an ally, like before. Not like... not like he was just waiting for him to leave any second, follow Sam's footsteps. Hadn't he earned a little trust over the years?  


'The Haunted Mask. Uh, the first part, I think.'  


John hums in agreement, digs more. Dean closes his eyes. God, his head and arms are killing him.  


'My favourite was the one with the doll,' John offers, more and more dirt appearing around him, grave already about a meter deep.  


'What, Slappy?!' Dean's eyes fly open in shock. 'Dude, you're so creepy. I mean, ghouls are one thing, but living dolls?'  


He sees his dad shrug.  


'I liked it.'  


'Yeah, I'll remember to buy you a Chucky poster for Christmas.'  


It takes John ten more minutes to finish. Dean feels himself dozing off despite the cold and the pain and the hunger. Or maybe because of it? He's not sure, but next thing he knows, his dad nudges him with the end of the shovel, crawling out of the grave.  


'Come on, push him inside.'  


Dean gets up, drags the body and drops it into the grave. It lands, once again and this time forever. John digs in his duffel, panting from the grave workout he's just finished.  


'Cut out the head, I'll torch it. Then, cover it up,' he says, taking Dean's spot on the headstone. Dean's jealous; it's been warmed by him already and now he feels the icy wind as if it's getting right to his bones. But he takes the machete and jumps inside. He doesn't like standing in the graves, it always makes him feel uneasy. So he's efficient when he chops the head off in one clean cut. He takes it in his hand and grimaces.  


He throws his bloody machete on the snow and crawls out afterwards. John looks over at him tiredly, lighter fluid and matches ready.  


Dean can't resist and lifts the severed, grisly looking head up.  


'I don't think this one's gonna make it, nurse,' he says, grinning widely. John shakes his head, but there's a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Dean chuckles and drops it on the ground, gets the shovel and covers up the grave, while his dad lights up the rest of the ghoul and burns it down.  


'Well, we're done here,' decides John, giving the place a once-over. 'Let's go.'

 

Dean falls asleep during the drive back to the motel. John keeps glancing at him. He's almost hundred percent sure it's not a concussion, and the bleeding from Dean's head stopped a while ago. His kid looks so young like this, curled up against the door. John can almost trick himself into thinking he's fifteen again, except. Blood covers half of his face, so that's kind of disturbing.  


And yet, he's still here. He sticks with John no matter what. The loyalty still surprises him; the first few nights he was practically waiting for Dean to leave and never come back, settle with Sam in California so he could check on his brother all the time, whatever. And John knows he's acting like a grade A douchebag lately, but Dean's... the only person who never second guessed him, who never even suggested he was doing something wrong.  


He tightens his hands on the wheel. This isn't right. He's not the type to apologize or initiate long, loving talks, but maybe there might be a way to show Dean that he appreciates. That he's. Sorry. 

 

It’s the next day, Dean making some mac and cheese for dinner, when John comes in. He stomps his boots to get rid of the snow and takes off his coat.  


‘Please tell me you bought some snacks,’ Dean digs in the pasta with a wooden spatula.  


‘Actually, I got something better,’ replies John and he belatedly realizes that he’s nervous about it. He pulls the two tickets from his pocket and flashes them to Dean. ‘Licks Tour, Nashville, you and your old man,’ he smiles. ‘What do you say?’  


Dean’s eyes get impossibly huge and his jaw falls open.  


‘No way!’ he leaves the stove and runs to grab the tickets. ‘Aw, really?!’  


‘Yeah, really,’ chuckles John and puts his hands in his pockets. ‘I figured it’s about time you hear Paint It Black live.’  


‘Awesome!’ cheers Dean, grinning like it’s the best thing that’s happened to him, and John can’t help but laugh back. ‘Shit, dad, thanks! I wanted to see The Stones forever…’  


‘I know,’ Damn, too close to a chick flick moment. John clears his throat. ‘Alright, finish up the dinner, we gotta eat and hit the road, it’s at least seven hour drive to Tennessee.’  


Dean nods and dumps the contents of the frying pan on a plate. He hums happily, serving two portions. John knows, it was a good decision. God help him, the first one in ages. 

 

It’s crazy. Too many people and John realizes, he’s getting too old for this. The music is blaring, a bit overwhelming, and at least ten girls have already checked Dean out all too obviously, but his kid is too excited to notice, which doesn’t happen often. Dean drags him to the merchandise stand and insists they buy two shirts.  


‘Do I have to remind you we’re not starring in America’s Richest Families this week?’ scolds John, but he doesn’t put almost any feeling into this. He’s willing to pull out his wallet and whatever he’s got left in it to make this evening perfect for Dean. He didn’t even expect to feel so nice, having a day off. Last time he went on a concert with his kids was five years ago.  


‘Hold your horses, cowboy, I got it covered,’ Dean takes out a fifty dollar bill.  


‘Where’d you get this from?’ asks John, suspicious. Dean shrugs.  


‘Been savin’’, he pays for two shirts and hands John his.  


‘For what?’  


He shrugs again and alright, John’s gonna let him have this one. Because they both know, don’t they? But there’s no reason to start an argument right now. Not now, not this evening.  


So he takes his shirt and puts it on. They head to the center of the platform. There’s an okay look for the stage and a couple of screens set up so they’re gonna get a good shot anyway. John realizes he’s looking around not out of boredom, but trying to figure out the layout of the venue, and Jesus. That’s just too many years of hunting, waiting for the threat to drop.  


‘Think they gonna play Beast of Burden?’ asks Dean, interrupting his train of thought. He looks thrilled, almost jumping up and down. John smiles.  


‘Hell kid, they better be. I didn’t drive that fast to hear Angie for the 100th time.’  


Then the lights go out and the show starts.

END


End file.
